


Made of Stars, Made of Dirt (A Dear Exchange Student Story)

by broadlicnic



Series: Dear Exchange Student [2]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, M/M, Multi, mid-2000s high school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadlicnic/pseuds/broadlicnic
Summary: Cursed costumes, swiped booze and candy corn. It's a Halloween party in the bunker but Owen's not feeling it.A Dear Exchange Student one-shot.





	Made of Stars, Made of Dirt (A Dear Exchange Student Story)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wizardboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizardboy/gifts).

> This is a gift for my SAF Discord Secret Satan partner! It's sort of set in the Dear Exchange Student universe but doesn't fit the timeline. DES was set between late January and late March, so for this fic, just imagine it was set in October instead but that everything else is the same.

It was _ perfect_. The top hat he’d picked up from a thrift store was good quality, not the gross, shiny, plastic options available at Party City for his meagre budget. He’d never fully appreciated his mother’s skill with a sewing machine until Mrs. Mega had shown him the jacket. It was beautiful, intricate, possibly the most well-tailored thing Curt had ever owned. He kept it in the spare room with Oleg, certain that Owen wouldn’t venture in there. He wanted it to be a _ surprise_.

The biggest surprise was how little Owen shared in his enthusiasm. 

“Excuse me?” he scoffed, stretching across the bed to pull the gigantic novel down from where it was hiding Owen’s face. “You have never done Halloween?”

“Not in the way you mean,” Owen said, his gaze returning to something called _ Barnaby Rudge_. Sounded boring.

“So, what?” Curt asked. He pulled himself up on to his knees. This was his attention seeking pose. He practically bounced on the mattress like an excitable puppy. It never failed to distract Owen. “You’ve never gone trick or treating, never wore a costume, nothing?”

Owen shrugged. “It’s just not as big a thing where I come from.”

“So what do you _ do?” _ Curt said. This was madness. Halloween was his favourite day of the year. His clothes never looked cheap because everyone in town wore cheap, tacky costumes that came in vacuum-packed plastic bags and were always vaguely suggestive. He stuffed himself with candy and swiped booze and hung out in the park with the wrestling team and pretending for a night he had friends. And now, this Halloween, he actually _ had _ friends.

Better than that, he had a _ boyfriend_.

A boyfriend who entirely didn’t care about Halloween.

“Some of the guys from school usually have a party,” Owen said, “but I don’t go.”

“Why not?”

Owen lifted the book again, but Curt could tell that he wasn’t really reading it. His eyes weren’t skimming the pages, and his voice was quiet. Typical Owen, he’d soon discovered. When he was saying anything that made him feel slightly vulnerable, he got quiet and pretended he was distracted by something. “I don’t really like the guys from school,” he said. “Usually I just get a bunch of horror films on DVD and settle in for the night.”

This time, Curt dragged the book from Owen’s hands and threw it across the room, ignoring Owen’s protest that he hadn’t marked the page he was on. “We are changing that. You find yourself a costume, I’ll handle everything else,” he said, a wicked grin forming on his face.

“Curt,” Owen began, a quizzical eyebrow raised even as he started to run his hand down Curt’s arm, “what are you planning?”

Curt leant forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Just leave it to me, okay?”

~~~

“Okay, what the hell are you meant to be?” Curt looked Owen up and down with a furrowed brow. His costume was… well there was only one way to put it. It was Owen in a black suit, but he’d shaved the short beard he’d been growing for the past couple of days, which he’d admittedly been intrigued by, so that only a moustache remained.

“I’m Edgar Allan Poe,” Owen said, as if that was obvious. He gestured at his outfit, like that would explain it. “Admittedly I haven’t put the raven on my shoulder yet.”

Curt folded his arms. “You just look like some dude.”

“So do you,” Owen shot back. “Except with eyeliner. Which is hot, by the way.”

Curt was already making a mental note not to return that kohl pencil to Tatiana. He plucked at his faded Green Day t-shirt. “I’ve not finished yet!” he insisted. The jacket was still in the spare room. Waiting. “Anyway, you can’t just go for Halloween as a guy with a moustache and a suit.”

“Love, I am an icon of Gothic literature.”

“Who nobody will ever recognise,” Curt laughed. “Look, swap your jacket for the pinstripe one in my dad’s old things. And make this,” he said, tapping Owen’s upper lip for emphasis, “thinner”.

Owen caught his hand, pressing a kiss to the pads of Curt’s fingers. “Why?”

“You’re going as Gomez Addams now. If you’re going as a guy in a suit,” he said, his hands now coming to rest against Owen’s chest, “you should at least be a sexy guy in a suit.”

“Got a thing about Gomez Addams, have you?” Owen said with a light chuckle.

“Oh please, as if you don’t.”

~~~

“This was unexpected.”

Curt tugged at the lapel of his red tailcoat. “What, do I not pull it off?”

“No, you do,” Owen said. His eyes were wide and dark, and his hands were on Curt’s hips in an instant. “You _ really _ do.”

“Owen,” Curt laughed. The top hat fell to the floor as Owen attacked his neck with a kiss. The moustache tickled the skin there. “I know you’re dressed as the spooky season’s biggest horndog but you need to restrain yourself.”

“Sorry,” Owen murmured against his jaw. “I just never thought I’d be into _ this_.”

“Do you think Brendon Urie is hot?” Curt asked. He felt Owen nodding, heard his low groan. “How about me?”

Owen pulled his head back, meeting Curt’s gaze. “Obviously.”

“Then why _ wouldn’t _ you be into this?”

“Do we have to go out?” Owen said in a low voice. His eyelids were dark with shadow, his skin pale with Mrs Mega’s powder foundation. It was like Gomez with Morticia’s make-up and it was _ working _ for him. But Curt wasn’t about to let this beautiful tailoring go to waste.

“I’ve put a lot of effort into this, Owen. I want you to have a good time.” He kisses Owen, catching just bottom lip lightly between his teeth. When they parted, he winked. “I promise you can live out your Brendon fantasies later.”

~~~

When they arrived at the bunker, the girls had already finished decorating and were sat together on the mountain of cushions on the floor, sharing a bag of Dorito’s between them. “Hey, Curt,” Barb called out when she spotted them, “haven’t you heard of closing the goddamn door?”

“Barb, we need to leave the door open for the others to arrive. It is very heavy,” Tatiana said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s a reference, Tati,” Curt sighed. “To my costume.” He snatched up the bag and stuffed a full handful of chips into his mouth. 

“I do not understand, there are no doors in circus tents.”

“No I’m…” he began, but soon decided better of explaining the reference to her. Did Russia not have _ music _ or something? “Never mind.” He muttered. He looked her up and down appreciatively. Damn, the girl looked great in purple. “Have you two done a couple’s costume?”

“Daphne and Velma are the ultimate galpals!” Barb giggled. She had on some cheap looking brunette bob, but the glasses were her own. Orange certainly was _ not _ her colour but she was so adorably excited that he felt warm at the sight of her all the same. Curt could see she was already three quarters into a Bud Light, which for Barb was not very light at all.

“One day, you two will make out.”

“Someone needs to be the token straight, Curt,” Barb said, folding her arms. She made a good Velma. She would say _ jinkies _ before the night was through.

“We have Sergio now,” Owen laughed, “embrace the gay.”

“Yeah, Barb,” Curt hadn’t even noticed Alphonse lurking in a dark corner. “Have you ever been with a woman before?” His costume was, well, it was horrific. Smudged, deep red lipstick, dark eyes, a leather jacket and...were those fishnets? He would have to commit Owen’s face to memory because he was about to scoop out his eyes with a spoon.

“Okay, who invited Al, and why is he in bondage gear?” Owen asked.

“I’m just a sweet transvestite, Carvour,” Alphonse said with a flourish, opening his jacket to reveal the tight leather corset beneath. It was an impressive costume, Curt would give him that, if disturbing.

“Nobody invited him,” Tatiana grumbled. “He found out about the party and just showed up.”

“Fine, whatever,” Curt shrugged. “I heard he’s a lightweight anyway, he’ll be asleep in an hour.”

“_¡__Ay dios mio! _ Mega, what the hell happened to this place?”

Curt Mega would take seeing Alphonse in Frank-n-Furter drag every day for the rest of his life. Hell, he would dress up as Frank-n-Furter for the rest of his life _ himself_, if only some god out there would see fit to erase the sight from before his eyes. He would dream about this sight for decades. It would be what he talked to his therapist about at his next session.

“Never mind that, what the hell happened to your _ face? _”

Sergio stood proudly, his hands resting on his hips so the potato sack he wore gathered up unflatteringly. The wide grin across his green face only made it worse. “I’m Shrek!”

“No,” Curt shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “No, Shrek has never looked this cursed.”

“Hey, come on, my man! Check it out…” He took in a deep breath, adopted a stance that could only be described as an intimidating squat. “_What are ye doin' in ma swamp___!_” _ he yelled, in an accent that sounded more Polish than Scottish. Hell, he sounded like Feurgin. Where the hell _ was _ Feurgin? Curt wouldn't be surprised if Sergio had actually lost him.

“No.” Tatiana said forcefully. Sergio’s face fell.

“At least Maria came as pre-ogre Fiona,” Owen mused. He’d thrown himself down on the cushions, a hand full of candy corn. Owen had told Mrs Mega he’d never had candy corn before, so Mrs Mega bought enough candy corn to feed a starving village.

“Owen, that goes against the whole message of Shrek!” Barb cried.

“Listen, my dear. I fully support Shrek and Fiona,” Owen said. “It’s Sergio as Shrek that I cannot abide.”

“At least we came in a couple’s costume, my man!” Sergio said, slinging an arm around Curt’s shoulder and knocking off his top hat as he did so. “Do you two not even talk to each other?”

“We came as each other’s fantasies,” Owen said with a wink. He was _ lounging _ on the cushions now. God, even as Gomez he was beautiful.

“Owen!” Curt hissed, his cheeks reddening.

“Mega fantasises about Gomez Addams?” Alphonse laughed. He pulled a small notebook and pen out of his corset and furiously started scribbling.

“Look what you did!” Curt hissed, slapping Owen’s arm as he threw himself down on the cushions beside him.

“Is it a lie, though?” Owen asked, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

They heard the jangle of spurs before the voice. Of course Dick would turn up as a cowboy. The man treated every day as a Halloween party. “Howdy, y’all!”

The voice wasn’t Dick’s. The cowboy was tall, his hair dark and wavy beneath his stetson. His broad muscles filled out the shirt that was ever-so-slightly too tight for him, and he was actually chewing on straw. “...Kevin? Your costume…”

Kevin raised his arms and spun slowly. “I came as Dick.”

“How clever!” Maria said. “And where is Dick?”

Kevin shrugged. “He’s grabbing us some beer from the store room at the Diner. So I have to pass the time with you losers until he gets here. I’m guessing the Russian has some booze.”

“You love us really, Kevin.” Barb said in a sing-song voice.

“We all know how he secretly feels about Curt…” Owen joined in. Curt nudged him in the ribs.

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing, Sergio!” Curt said quickly as Kevin fumbled with his words. “Here, eat candy.” He grabbed a handful of Owen’s candy corn and hurled it in the direction of the demonic Shrek.

“Barb, what on earth is this playlist?” Alphone scowled. He still had that damn notebook in his manicured hand.

“It’s horror movie theme songs!” Barb insisted. “You’ll recognise them when we get to Tubular Bells!”

“No offence,” Kevin said, “but I was kinda expecting Thriller. Maybe Ghostbusters…”

“Fine,” she groaned, stomping over to the laptop. As the introductory creak of Michael Jackson’s classic echoed through the bunker, Dick walked through the open door, his arms weighed down bags full of clanging bottles.

“I couldn’t steal any crates from under Pop’s nose,” he declared, “but take a gander at what I rustled up.”

“Babe,” Kevin hissed, “you were supposed to get a costume.”

Dick looked just like, well, Dick. It was his favourite black and gold shirt, his stetson, his boots. He grinned widely, setting the bags down on the floor with a clatter and pointing proudly at his chest where a frankly impressive-looking star-shaped badge rested. “I’m the Sheriff.”

“Are you serious?” Kevin snapped."I put all this work into stealing your clothes, asshole, least you could do is wear something else."

“Don’t you want to save a horse, ride a cowboy tonight?” Dick said, and bit his lip.

“Dick, how many times are you going to use that joke?” Curt groaned.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Sergio.”

~~~

“Dude, who brought the ouija board?” Kevin said. The party had been slow to start, a weird tension enveloping the place. That tension probably came from Alphonse lurking in the shadows of the far corner, taking note of their every move. Dick and Kevin whispered to each other by the shelves. Sergio and Maria just made out. Curt maintained contact with Owen by sitting against his side, but they just ate snacks in silence, Owen occasionally casting a glance Alphonse’s way. Curt wanted to kiss him, to talk and laugh with him, without his every move ending up in a MySpace post the next morning. Only Tatiana and Barb seemed to be having a good time, but Barb was three drinks deep and Tatiana already working on her seventh. Curt was suddenly overcome with dread that he couldn’t remember if he’d restocked the bunker toilet.

“No way, my man,” Sergio warned, finally pulling his mouth away from Maria’s. “You don’t mess with the dead.”

“Sergio, it’s mine,” Maria laughed quietly. She curled herself closer into his side, green paint smudged over her lips but she didn’t seem to care.

“Oh,” Sergio said. “Oh, in that case it must be fine.”

Kevin grabbed the box and brought it over to the pile of cushions, Dick following behind. He started to rearrange the cushions into a circle as the girls stopped laughing and got up onto their knees, pulling the wooden board from the beat up old cardboard box. Even Alphonse came to join, his notebook thankfully forgotten.

“Can we not?” Owen said quietly.

“Didn’t have your boyfriend down as a coward, Mega,” Kevin scoffed.

“Shut up, Kevin,” Curt groaned. He didn’t get up to help, but he didn’t exactly stop the others either. _ Was _ Owen scared of an Ouija board? Surely he didn’t believe in that crap. Owen was smarter than Curt and even _ he _ knew it was nonsense.

“I’m no coward,” Owen said. “It’s just stupid.”

“Come on, Owen!” Barb tittered. “Lighten up!”

“I’m light, Barb,” Owen said. It was subtle, but Curt could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I just don’t want to do it.”

“Hey,” Curt said softly, resting a hand on Owen’s wrist, “nobody’s forcing you.”

“Yeah, Carvour,” Kevin laughed. “You just sit there while we have a good time.”

“Now honey,” Dick said sternly. “Don’t go disrespectin’ Owen’s honour.”

The circle was now formed, the board waiting on the cold floor surrounded by cushions. Sergio had picked up the planchette and was using the magnifying glass to look at Maria and giggling. The planchette now had green paint on it too.

Curt cast Owen a worried glance. He was actually scowling. “We’ll...uh,” he began. “...We’ll sit this one out.”

“Suit yourself!” Kevin said, and snatched the planchette from Sergio’s hand. He placed it down on the board and instructed those gathered in the circle to place a finger on it.

Owen got to his feet, stalking over to the table where Dick had laid out the bottles of beer and wine he’d swiped. He grabbed a screwcap bottle of red and started to gulp it straight from the bottle.

“Hey,” Curt scrambled to his feet after him, ignoring Sergio chanting in fake-Latin. He grabbed the bottle from Owen’s hands and took a sip himself before setting it down. “What’s going on?” Curt took both of Owen’s hands in his own, lacing their fingers together. Owen’s worried frown was only accentuated by his pencil-thin moustache.

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” Owen said bitterly. He pulled one of his hands away from Curt’s and took up the bottle again. “I’m getting drunk.”

“You’re acting weird,” Curt said. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m fine,” Owen insisted. “As long as you’re having fun.”

“I’d have more fun if you talked to me.”

Owen shut him up with a kiss. Curt needed to develop more self-restraint, because anything he wanted to say floated out of his mind the moment he felt Owen’s lips on his; the satisfying tickle of his moustache; the warm feeling in his belly as Owen pressed up against him. It was an avoidance tactic, but it worked.

“Oh spirits,” Kevin said in an exaggerated voice. “Do you have a message for us from _ beyond the grave _?”

Curt stumbled as the gentle press of Owen against him rapidly disappeared.

“Owen?” he said, confused. He was already almost out of the door.

“I need some air,” Owen called over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

~~~

He didn’t make it far. Curt found him sat on a fallen tree trunk not two minutes walk away from the bunker. The night was bitterly cold, especially away from the portable heaters Barb had supplied for the party, and neither of them had a coat. His red tailcoat wasn’t exactly lined for the approaching winter, and the wind was whipping up. He was relieved he’d left his top hat inside.

Owen didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold. Maybe it was a British thing, Curt didn’t know. He did know that Owen didn’t even flinch at his approach. He was tearing at a fallen, brown leaf with his long fingers, staring ahead into the labyrinth of tree trunks and empty branches. Curt sat beside him, scuffing his boots in the mud and folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to stop shivering.

“I don’t know what to say,” he began.

“Could have started with ‘penny for your thoughts’,” Owen muttered.

“Is that some British thing?” Curt asked, nudging Owen’s shoulder with his own.

Owen smiled a little at the contact, but it was fleeting. “You should go back inside,” he said. “You’re cold.”

“So are you,” Curt said. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, love,” Owen insisted. He dropped the shredded leaf to the ground and his hands fell uselessly in his lap. “Don’t want to ruin your night.”

“Not being with you would ruin my night,” Curt said. He didn’t dare to move yet, to try and touch Owen again. He still didn’t know how to predict his behaviour. How was Owen _ still _ such an enigma to him? “Was it something I did?”

“What? Of course not!” Owen insisted, finally turning to him. His eyes were a little watery, but Curt couldn’t be sure if that was the cold or something else.

“I know I kinda forced you into this party,” Curt said.

“You didn’t force me into anything,” Owen said. “The rest of them…”

“Is this about the Ouija board?” Curt asked. “You don’t believe…”

“No, I don’t,” Owen interrupted. “But it’s still uncomfortable.”

The realisation hit Curt like a punch in the gut. A full day’s worth of candy was churning in his stomach. He was so fucking _ stupid _.

“Your parents,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure Owen heard him over the wind until he slowly nodded and let out a deep breath.

“I just…” he paused. Curt cupped his cheek with his hand. Owen’s skin was _ freezing _. “Of course I don’t believe they’d send me a message. I just don’t like people joking about messages from the dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Owen said softly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m sorry I ruined your party.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Curt echoed. “Now come on,” he took Owen’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s see what embarrassing things we can get Alphonse to do when he’s drunk.” The laughter floating from the bunker told him that the coast was clear, the board had been abandoned. “And later,” he added just before they stepped through the door, “You can show me how much you love my costume by getting me out of it.”


End file.
